


A Bet

by pinkmagnolias



Category: Spell Check (Podcast)
Genre: Spell Check has 0 presence on ao3 so I hope everything I've tagged is right, Worry, death mention, neither actually happens, so this is my take on that, spoilers for like the first 20 minutes of the first episode, talk of violence, the emphasis on "Someone is about to lose a bet" always stood out to me a little?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25717411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkmagnolias/pseuds/pinkmagnolias
Summary: Gill loses a bet.





	A Bet

**Author's Note:**

> The game they're playing is Spoons! Here's a good guide if you don't know how to play: https://www.howdoyouplay.net/card-games/how-to-play-spoons.html
> 
> Disclaimer: The first and last paragraphs aren't my words! They're transcribed from [the first episode](https://soundcloud.com/spell-check/spell-check-chapter-1-a-second-chance-part-1)

It’s midnight in the city of Melior. More accurately, it’s midnight in Melior, capital of the kingdom of Palatine, on the northern coast of the continent of Arial. And like most of the continent, midnight in Melior is almost… too quiet. _Too_ peaceful. It’s the untrustworthy kind of quiet that makes veterans and elders put their ears to the ground, and listen for what’s coming. And they hear it. Anyone can hear it; the ground whispers back: somewhere out there in this cold, still, midwinter night, the world hangs on a coin toss. Someone is losing a soul. Someone is losing a war. And someone is about to lose a bet.

* * *

Gill sighs quietly to himself. He’s been roped into playing cards, and whoever loses has to go check on whatever prisoners had been bet on that round. He hasn’t lost yet, but the last round was close.

“Alright, whoever loses this round has to check onnnnnn… what about those guys from the south wing?” A round of cheers greet the suggestion, and Gill swallows nervously. The south wing isn’t where they keep the pickpockets and people with minor sentences.

The cards are dealt out and play starts. They’re playing Spoons, though with the assortment of items they have they’re technically playing Two Spoons, A Handful Of Pencils, And A Dagger (sheathed, thankfully). Gill’s played a few times before, and he’s decent enough at it, but there’s a crowd of people around the table and it’s hard to keep an eye on all of them while the cards are almost whizzing by and before he knows it, the table’s clear of spoons (and pencils and a dagger) and everyone’s looking at him as the only one with just cards in his hands.

There are a couple “Better luck next time, dude,” and “Good luck,”s, but the remark that jumps out most is “Better be careful, man, isn’t that where we put the one who chopped off someone’s fingers?” Gill lets out a nervous laugh and hopes fervently that it isn’t, or at least that the man is exaggerating.

“Here,” someone says, standing up from the game and showing Gill over to the little carts of stuff and wheeling one into his hand. “This should be their stuff.”

“Um, thanks,” Gill says. “Hey, how will I know who they are?”

“Should be a little piece of paper on the cart somewhere.” The guy flaps a hand. “There’ll be keys on a hook nearby the cell. You just need to get in, confirm it’s their stuff, and then get back out. Don’t talk to them unless it’s about whether you’ve got their things or not, and don’t take anything from them. Simple enough.”

Gill nods miserably, adjusts his grip on the handle of the cart, and trudges down to the south wing.

Get in, make sure it’s their stuff, and get out. Get in, make sure it’s their stuff—oh, god, what if it’s not? What’s he going to do then?

He glances over at the packs and notes that there’s five of them. Isn’t there, like, some thing where the smaller the number the better your odds are or something? He’s pretty sure that’s a thing. And five packs is a small number, so he should be good!

Oh, god, what if there’s only four of them and he’s got an extra pack? Apparently one of them chopped off someone else’s fingers—what if a couple of them disagreed and now one of them’s dead? No, none of them have any weapons, so they couldn’t kill each other. At least, not easily, and he thinks if there was someone killing someone else there’d be enough of a commotion that a guard would notice it.

He’s just got to keep it together long enough to get in, check it’s their stuff, and get out. It’s simple. It’ll take like five minutes; he can keep cool for five minutes.

He reaches the holding cell and sure enough, there are the keys on a hook right next to the door. Isn’t that kind of a bad idea to keep the key so close to the door it locks? Eh, that’s not important right now; it’s in a convenient place for him to find it and he’s more focused on getting this over with than where keys should be kept.

Gill grabs the keys, inserting them in the lock and turning. It rattles loudly as it scrapes the lock open, and _great_ , now they’re all going to be staring at the door as he comes in and maybe they’ve come up with a plan to knock him out as soon as he enters and these few seconds’ warning are all they need to get into position—

_Keep it together, Gill,_ he tells himself. _You’re an official guard for the Fortress of Reform. They’re locked up, and if they want their stuff they’ll behave. You’ve got the advantage here; just be cool._

He opens the door and walks inside, shutting the door behind him so none of the prisoners can try and make an escape.

There’s five of them, one guy and four girls. The guy’s some muscles on him, and one of the girls is holding a sopping wet blanket with a haughty expression, but all in all they don’t look too bad. He can totally do this.

“Well, hi, guys!”


End file.
